


Five Nights Jack Takes Care of his Kids and the One Where They Take Care of Him

by CommanderBunnBunn



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Car Accidents, Caring Jack Dalton (MacGyver TV 2016), Comfort, Exhaustion, Fluff, Forehead Kisses, Found Family, Gen, Hurt Riley and Mac if you squint but not really, Parental Jack Dalton (MacGyver TV 2016), Riley Davis & Angus MacGyver are Siblings, Surgery, Team as Family, Vomiting, Worried Jack Dalton (MacGyver TV 2016), but it's really just fluff and comfort, comfort and comfort, everything is platonic and fatherly, looking at these tags it makes it look a lot worse than it is, spy siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:00:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27355393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CommanderBunnBunn/pseuds/CommanderBunnBunn
Summary: Jack Dalton loves his 3 kids and will do anything for them, including taking care of them and all of their needs for 5 straight days
Relationships: Wilt Bozer & Jack Dalton & Riley Davis & Angus MacGyver
Comments: 62
Kudos: 59





	1. Wednesday

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a 125 word little ficlet about Mac playing possum to trick Jack into finally settling down himself for some rest, and that turned into this 10k+ word monstrosity. I couldn't help myself. It's already written, not a WIP, but I'm putting it out chapter by chapter to be a dick just because I've not written a full work and not posted it in its entirety at once. I'll probably get tired of being a tease and will post the rest at the same time. We'll see

**Wednesday 2302 hours**

Jack’s phone rings around 2300 hours. He’s fast asleep, it’s been a long day. The screen only shows a local number, no name. Jack’s number isn’t something he hands out to just anybody...or to anybody at all outside of work, and he has all of their numbers saved in his contacts already. 

He slides the green circle over to answer, “Hello?”

“Hello? Jack Dalton?” a male voice on the other end asks.

“Who are you and where did you get this number?” Jack growls.

“I’m with the police department, Riley Davis asked me to call you.”

Jack snatches the phone and sits straight up. “What’s wrong? What happened? Is my baby girl ok?”

“She wants you to come pick her up.”

“Where?” He’s almost shouting, already out of bed and shimmying into yesterday’s jeans, hopping on one foot while balancing his phone between his cheek and his shoulder. “What _happened_? Is she ok?”

“She seems fine. She refused the ambulance.” 

Jack cuts him off, “Ambulance?” He sounds upset, “let me talk to her. Now!”

Seconds later, Riley is on the phone, voice timid. “Jack. I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t care what you did, sweetheart, as long as you’re ok.” He tries to soothe her, but she doesn’t elaborate. “Now tell me where you are so I can come getcha.”

Her voice cracks, she’s about to burst into tears, “I drove my car into a lake?”

“What?” Jack isn’t sure what he’s hearing.

“You remember that stinky lake near my mom’s house, the one with the weird covered bridge?” She tries to explain, and he answers in the affirmative, setting off her rambling account of the accident, “I swerved to avoid hitting someone that was in my lane, and it was such a small road. My car went over the side and into the water, and I freaked out. I freaked out, Jack. And the car was sinking.”

He tries to calm her, “Take a breath sweetheart, you’re ok. It’s fine.” He doesn’t bother with putting on a shirt and grabs a discarded t-shirt and jacket to take with him and dress in the car. 

She hears his footsteps running down the metal stairs of the fire escape over the phone and feels slightly relieved. “And when the water was pouring into the car, and I couldn’t get the door open because the front of the car was smashed, I panicked. I just screamed and cried as if it was going to help stop the car from sinking.”

“Well you’re safe now, so there’s no reason to dwell on that.” He assures her, and she hears the engine of the Stingray roar to life. 

“And when the water got up to my chest, I tired to calm down and get out. I banged on the window with my fist and nothing happened and my seatbelt was stuck. Then I remembered that little yellow thing you got me when I was younger, that seatbelt cutter window smashy thing. I’ve kept it in every car I’ve ever driven and rolled my eyes every time I moved it because why would I ever need something like that? I pulled it out and broke the window right before the car was completely underwater, then I cut the seatbelt off. I was under water completely. My foot got stuck in the seatbelt when I was trying to swim out. The water was so dark and murky I couldn’t tell which way was up.” She stops for a moment to sob.

His breath hitches, “Baby, I’m so incredibly proud of you.” Tears start to fall down his cheeks, “you did it. You were perfect. You didn’t crack under pressure and I couldn’t be more proud of you.” The phone is still braced between his shoulder and his ear so he can shift gears while steering, "I can be there in about…” he ponders for a second, “twenty minutes. Hold tight for me, ok. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Ok,” she sobs, “thank you.” She starts to hand the phone back to the officer and pulls it back to exclaim, “I love you!”

Jack can no longer hold back, but he keeps it together for a few more seconds. “I love you so much. I’ll be there soon.” As much as he wants to stay on the phone with her, he wants to drive faster. Very skilled behind the wheel, it’s a non-issue, but as he gets older, it becomes more difficult to see at night, and he no longer trusts his vision like he used to. 

Though it should take anyone else forty minutes, Jack was at the lake in twenty, as promised. All heads turn to the classic blue car as he throws it in park outside of the crime scene tape. Riley is mesmerized by the winch pulling her car out of the lake by the bumper. The water pours out of the broken window and it sways side to side on the winch. She hears the car’s door slam and turns to see Jack running toward her.  


She drops the cop's fleece blanket from around her wet shoulders and runs to Jack. Riley latches on to him and he envelops her from the top, cradling the back of her head into his chest. They cry together as he strokes her wet hair. After a long comforting embrace, he squeezes her shoulders firmly and looks into her eyes with a proud smile. “You did great.”

“My car is smashed and drowned.” she pouts, about to break again. The tow truck winch drops the sedan on the dry land with a thump.

“All that matters is that you’re ok. Are you ok?” He nods to get her to agree with him and she nods along with him. He touches a small piece of white gauze above her temple to confirm it's not as bad as he assumes. 

“Bumped my head. Just a little cut.” She explains and he raises a questioning brow, “I promise. Just a little cut. No stitches or anything.”

“Ok then. You didn’t drink any of that lake water, did ya?" He asks jokingly, "it might be brown and cloudy like a mocha latte, but it’s a swimming pool for intestinal parasites. Yum.”

“No,” she laughs and barks a wet cough, “but I may have inhaled a little.”

He wraps his arm around her shoulders, pulling her into his side, “looks like we have a pit stop at Medical before you get home then.”

She whines, “Jaaaaack. It wasn’t much.” 

“There’s no arguing about this. That’s where I’m driving you.” He pulls off his jacket and puts it around her shoulders as they walk to the Stingray. He opens the trunk and pulls out another blanket to wrap her up in as he guides her to the passenger seat. “Now stay put, I’m gonna go talk to the tow truck driver and that cop, I’ll be back in a second to take you home.” She nods in acknowledgement. 

The ambulance crew is packing up to drive off, and Jack asks them for a bag. Jack inspects the crashed car, chin resting in his fingers introspectively. It could have been so much worse; he’s so grateful she’s ok. Her backpack, purse, and phone are shockingly still inside the vehicle, all ruined. She won’t be able to salvage them with a cup of rice, but he does need to get them back to the Phoenix as a matter of national security.

Before Jack joins Riley, he chats up the officer for a few minutes and takes his card with a case number on it. Satisfied he’s taken care of all he can, Jack hops in the car and cranks the heat to keep her warm. 

After a few miles of staticky radio signal going in and out, he finally grills her with the dad third degree, “what were you doing out so late?” His brain churns out all the possible _what if_ and _worst case_ scenarios, and it makes him sick to his stomach. He needed a distraction.

“Jack,” she sighs, “I’m not a child.”

“Well, I guess I’m just making small talk. Not demeaning your independence.”

She smirks with a half smile, “well, if you must know, I was coming back from my moms. Watered her plants and took in the mail while she’s on that trip to Paris with her best friend.”

“Have you told her yet?”

“No. Just you.” She looks down at her lap, picking at her cuticles. “I didn’t know who else to call, I’m sorry, Jack. I know you just got back from a mission. You should be in bed.”

“I’m glad you did,” he looks at her with an affectionate grin and sighs, “I’m so glad you’re ok, honey. I can’t even imagine… I just… I know…” 

She raises her eyebrows in mock surprise, “Jack Dalton at a loss for words, I’m not sure what to do at this unprecedented moment in time. I’d take a picture if my phone weren’t at the bottom of the lake.” 

“Actually, it’s in a plastic bag in the trunk, but it still ain’t taking pictures.” He follows up with an awkward chuckle and put his hand on her shoulder fondly.

She flinches slightly and he pulls back. “It’s just sore, seatbelt,” she confesses, then sinks down in her seat with disappointment knowing that’s gonna cost her more time in Medical.


	2. Thursday

**Thursday 0213 hours**

Two hours and having everything checked at Jack’s insistence, Riley is cleared to go home. They send her home with some antibiotics for the impending pneumonia and a couple days worth of stronger pain killers for the bruising from the seat belt. Jack drives her home and walks her in, hoping for an invitation to stay on the couch. He can’t shake the anxiety from all the terrible outcomes that could have been that were still pinballing around in his head. 

“Go get yourself showered off, I’ll peel all the protective film off your new phone and computer.” Before she has a chance to protest, he pretends to elbow her, “kidding, but I’ll make sure everything is plugged in and charging, and I’ll call your insurance guy about delivering a rental car to you in the morning. That’s why we pay the big bucks for this damn car insurance, 24 hour access.”

“Thank you,” she kisses his cheek and retreats to her bedroom as Jack plops down on the couch, finally able to drop the facade and let himself feel the full weight of the crushing parental fear. 

He cries, nearly hyperventilates. Of course he’s put her on a dangerous career path, but at least he gets to protect her there. He now understands why Diane was so upset that Jack let her. Things outside of his control are almost as bad and anxiety inducing as the spies and terrorists she deals with as a career.

How does he teach her how to stay safe? He’s done everything he can, she can defend herself, she can protect herself, she’s always aware of her surroundings and is a very responsible woman, but there are things beyond his control. Outside forces that lurk and loom that you don’t even know are there, drunk drivers, people texting while driving, planes crashing, trains derailing, terrorists blowing up buildings. The more he thinks about, the more he spirals, despite how irrational his thoughts become. 

When he hears the shower shut off, he heads to the half bath to clean up his face and get rid of the evidence of paternal turmoil. 

She steps out in her most comfy pajamas with her hair contained in a towel balanced on top of her head, Jack is back on the couch doing something on his phone. “I’m heading to bed now,” she announces. “Thank you so much for...saving me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I just did what any guy would do.” He shook off the heartfelt compliment.

“No, I mean it. Had you not given me that stupid window breaker all those years ago and taught me how to...get my shit together and be prepared...and so many other things on top of that.” She sighs and looks down, “I wouldn’t be here. Thank you.” She holds her arms out to ask for a hug.

He covers the room in two large steps, pulling her in close, awkwardly finding his way around the giant towel mass on her head. Two heavy handed pats on the back before he pulls her in closer, “I love you, baby. Don’t scare me like that again.”

Riley pulls away, running a gamut of emotions in a few seconds, “I’m sorry. Thank you. I love you too, Dad.” 

He hides his shock and elation, “You need me to stay with you tonight? I have other dad skills that you’ve never seen.” He smiles, “I can scare boogeymen from under your bed and in your closet. I can teach you to drive.”

She cuts him off, “you taught me how to drive stick, that’s close enough. We’ll count that one already.”

“You sure you gonna be ok? I can stay. Your couch is more comfortable than Mac’s.” He almost pleads. 

“Yeah, I’m good.” She nods then orders, “Now go get some sleep.” She kisses his cheek and pushes him toward the door. “I love you!” 

He winks and waves goodbye, leaving his favorite leather jacket hanging damp and smelly on her coat hook.

But Jack doesn’t go home. He heads straight back to the Phoenix and uses every resource and computer nerd he can find there to track down the asshole that ran his kid off the road and into a lake. With some info on the suspect from the officer so he didn’t have to ask Riley to retell the story, it doesn’t take long, and he has a name and an address. 

He debates intimidating the asshole with a weapon, but would rather let the law deal with him in the proper way. If he interferes in a way that would make HIM look bad, the guy may get off easier. 

When Jack arrives at the apartment, he finds a car in the parking lot matching the description with a tiny bit of damage on the front quarter panel consistent with where it would have made contact with Riley’s car. He bangs on the door loud enough to wake the neighbors. It’s after 3 am, they must be sleeping, so he knocks louder. And louder. And longer. Until someone finally answers the door. Some girl wearing a t-shirt that is clearly not her own answers the door. “Are you Erick’s dad?” she asks sleepily.

“I don’t know who that is. I’m looking for Dustin.” He tries to be polite, but the rage in his eyes is apparent. Luckily she is still half asleep and doesn’t notice. 

“He’s over there, I think. Watching TV.” she points and moves out of the way of the door, retreating to the room she emerged from. 

Jack finds the suspect on the couch, clearly still buzzed and high as a kite. He grabs the dude by the front of his shirt and stands him up. Jack bares his teeth, snarling like an angry wolf, “Do you drive that old ass Subaru in the parking lot?”

The young man scrambles for purchase and stammers. "Wha-what?"

"You ran my little girl off the road and into a lake!" Jack shook him hard, barely resisting the urge to punch him in the face. "You could have killed her!"

"I-I-I'm sorry?" The guy doesn't know what to say, there's nothing he could say that would satisfy Jack anyway. 

Jack shoves him back down onto the couch and flips him over, pressing his knee into the small of the kid's back as he wraps his wrists in a zip tie. 

After further interrogation, Jack delivers the drunk young man to the police station around sunrise, ankles now zip tied to his wrists, with a written confession pinned to his shirt. 

He slips silently back into Riley's apartment with some breakfast from their favorite diner and finds her awake, lying on the couch. "You should be sleeping." He takes a seat next to her on the arm of the couch placing a soothing hand on top of her head. 

“I didn’t sleep. Every time I fell asleep, I just saw the car falling over the embankment or the water rushing up at me or…" she barks a wet cough and he slides onto the couch seamlessly, placing her head into his lap. 

"You think you can eat? I got your favorite." She can hear the smile in his voice. 

They spend the day together hanging out and watching tv, playing cards, enjoying their uninterrupted daddy-daughter time like they haven’t in years. Riley and Jack talk more than they have in a while, the floodgates open. Since she’s an adult and in on the spy game, he can now speak openly and she gives him the third degree about specific incidents from her childhood.

“So that time you ‘twisted your ankle’ at some dumb sales conference...” she makes airquotes emphatically.

“Foot whipping.”

"Gross!" She’s offended. “I don’t need to know about your weird kinks.”

Jack explains, “No, it was torture. As in actual torture. Ankles tied to a two by four and my feet were whipped. Ended up breaking my ankle trying to wiggle away.” 

Her horrified look tells Jack it’s time to change the subject. “So that time you had bruised knuckles and told me that you’d gotten upset about a test and punched a locker…” he cocks his eyebrows expectantly.

Riley laughs, “A boy grabbed my butt and tried to go for my chest so I punched him...repeatedly. He was afraid to tell on me. What dude wants to tell everyone he was beat up by a girl.”

“You coulda told me. I would have been proud of you for defending yourself.”

“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to know. The last thing my mom needed was you in jail for killing a 13 year old boy for touching me.”

“Fair.”

They continue to talk the rest of the day, Riley’s fever slowly climbing, wet cough deeper and heavier than before. It breaks his heart to watch because they both know it’s coming. He lets her nap when she’s tired, makes sure she’s eating, and keeps up with her meds. The seatbelt bruises across her clavicle peeking out from the neck of her shirt make Jack wince in sympathy. He wishes he could take it away for her or shoulder some of the burden. For now, he pulls her in tight, tucked into his side and kisses the top of her head. 


	3. Friday

**Friday 0453 hours**

Despite the heavy pain meds, she doesn’t get good sleep between the hacking cough and the restlessness. Jack goes home on her insistence, she made him promise that once she fell asleep he’d go home and get a shower and go to bed. 

At home, Jack gets a shower and a 45 minute power nap. He gets dressed and grabs some groceries back on his way to Riley’s. When he arrives back at her place, she’s on the couch with her knees tucked up into her oversized hoodie...or apparently Jack’s hoodie. 

Her non-work related brush with mortality has her anxiety ramped up to where she can't even sleep. Jack insists she call Phoenix Medical to let them know and maybe send over some anti-anxiety medication. Lucky for her, Mac returns from his mission shortly after that and will be able to bring them over on his way home. 

They pass the day with old 8-bit side scrolling video games. Jack is still adamant about not playing first person shooter games as he actually experienced it in real life; blocky side scrollers suit him perfectly. 

Mac brings Riley's anxiety meds and some bubble tea. Bozer shows up at Riley's next dressed in a sharp tuxedo and carrying a second garment bag with Jack's outfit for the night. 

"Wow, Boze, you're looking snazzy." Jack compliments. 

"I brought yours too." Bozer hands over the other garment bag. "I went through your suits at work, and this one is the best for tonight. The ones for Saturday ans Sunday are in there too."

"Oh no!" Jack palms his forehead, "that's tonight? I've completely lost track of the days."

Riley interjects, "because you haven't slept in 3 days."

"Well tonight's the night they're debuting our film at the Noir Noir Film Festival. I wish I could have gotten tickets for you two too." 

Riley sips her tea, "it's ok, we'll be there in spirit. It's not like we haven't watched it."

"I know. I doubt you'd be up for sitting in a theater for a marathon of indy Noir films made by black directors. I know it's not your favorite genre. Plus today, the other two that are running besides ours are completely subtitled."

"Oh yeah, no." She shakes her head, "I definitely am not up for reading movies right now."

"How are you feeling?" Bozer asks, "I'm sorry I haven't been by yet. I've been busy with work and making the final edits."

Riley flashes a genuine smile, "It's ok, I've had Jack to keep me company. He's doing all the work and running errands. I'm not sure I ever want to drive again."

"Oh," Mac remembers, "about the driving thing...Monday."

She covers her mouth in horror for forgetting. 

Jack offers his assistance, "I can drive ya, hoss. Why didn't you ask me in the first place."

"I didn't want to put you out."

Rolling his eyes, Jack doesn't even dignify that with a response. Guilt is painted all over Mac's face and Jack stares him down until he answers.

Mac sighs, "I didn't want to tell you, ok?" A mix of concern and parental sternness crosses Jack's face waiting for an explanation that Mac fails to give.

Riley answers timidly for him, "it's for neck surgery."

Jack scans them both, eyes wide and mortified. "And you didn't think this was something I needed to know about?"

"Well...not until it was over." Mac confesses. "I knew you'd make a big deal about it and worry, and it’s not a big deal at all. It only takes half an hour, done outpatient, home for dinner. Really, I just didn't want you to overreact."

"Over react? So you thought I'd over react about this, but be totally fine with you not telling me until after the fact?"

"Not really...I hadn't...it wasn't...I…" Mac gives up trying to explain himself and sulks. "I'm sorry."

"Now I hate to be rushing this Very Special Episode of Beverly Hills 90210, but you should probably get dressed and ready, Jack. Mac can hang out with Riley while we're gone. They can come up with whatever story they were gonna tell you about why they did or didn't include you in this plan."

Riley and Mac look at the floor like scolded puppies as Jack grabs his suit from Bozer to dress in the bathroom. 

He emerges in a charcoal gray suit with a plum colored shirt, definitely looking the part of the star of Bozer's film. He's not the star, he's the antagonist, but he's damn good in it, and they both know it.

Jack and Bozer are on fire when they introduce their entry into the competition, but the excitement wears off as soon as they take their seats, at least for Jack. He dozes subtly on and off throughout the film. Bozer is a ball of nerves, scanning the audience constantly to watch for reactions. 

The final film of the night was in Dutch, and Jack could follow without the subtitles, but he spends most of it half asleep, barely able to focus. His second wind hits near the end of the film and he embraces it, schmoozing with all the other directors after the screening. He woos the board of judges and chats up everyone he can because if Jack can do anything, he can talk. 

Wheeling and dealing lasts well into the night, Bozer makes some hopeful connections with some producers. His well received film is all the buzz in the black film community.


	4. Saturday

**Saturday 0348 hours**

Bozer and Jack roll into the parking lot of Riley's apartment to retrieve Bozer's car very late. His intentions of driving home squashed as Bozer realizes he's slightly buzzed and extremely tired. They creep silently into her apartment, undetected, as they’ve been extensively trained to do. 

Mac and Riley are cuddled together on the couch, both with their legs tucked up underneath them. He’s leaned over, using the arm of the couch as a pillow, and she’s leaned against him. Bozer plans to crash on the couch, but Jack insists he take the guest room. The couch will do for Jack, he doesn’t intend to sleep anyway. 

Jack debates just leaving the kids on the couch, but the last thing either of them needs is awkward sleeping positions with her bruises and strains and his apparent neck problems that are bad enough to require surgery that he wouldn’t even tell Jack about. He’s still salty about that as he turns down her bedspread.

Squatting to get a good angle, Jack scoops her into his arms, she doesn’t even stir as he rises to standing. Grateful she’s finally getting some good sleep, Jack reminisces about little Riley in pigtails falling asleep on the computer keyboard and him gently placing her into her bed as he does now with grown Riley. She’s barely much more in terms of size than she was then, tucked into a small ball in his arms then curled up like a cat under the comforter.

On the other hand, Mac is all limbs. He’s the same size as Jack, but not the same _size_. Jack is dense and a good thirty pounds heavier than Mac; he jokes that Mac has air in his bones like a bird. As he slides his arms under Mac’s knees and back, Jack bends over and forklifts the kid to his chest. He waits for a protest that doesn’t come, Mac never sleeps well on missions, no matter how innocuous, saving that good restful sleep for the flight home and his familiar surroundings. 

He deposits Mac on top of the comforter on the other side of Riley’s bed, opting to cover him with the quilt stored at the foot of the bed. Mac rolls over, burrowing himself into a tight burrito within the blanket to replace the human contact he was missing. 

As he slips off his dress shoes and unbuttons the top few buttons on his shirt, Jack debates his next action. Finally, he has the opportunity to fully dive into researching anything and everything there is to know about Mac’s upcoming surgery. With one earbud in and the other ear available as a baby monitor, Jack goes into intel and recon mode. 

When the sun comes up, Jack is on his 3rd video of watching the entire procedure and has read at least two dozen actual medical articles about it. His mind is eased, but only somewhat. The sound of the shower turning on breaks his intense focus. “Time to make the donuts.” he grumbles, but without an ounce of disdain. He’s happy to do this, but more than that, he’s amused by his own reference to a commercial from before any of his kids even existed. He feels old, but not _old_ old since he was spry enough to carry two adults to the bed without the slightest inkling of muscle strain or soreness. Not old...well seasoned, worldly, experienced, wise. 

He smiles at the word. Wise. Jack knows how to take care of his kids, what sacrifices he needs to make, what they need before they know they need it. Right now, they need food. They just don’t know that yet. Bozer needs pancakes to absorb all that alcohol, Riley needs solid food with her antibiotics, and Mac just needs food. He’s got the metabolism of a hummingbird and tends to need reminders to eat. Jack’s got his shit together, he’s on top of it. But first, coffee.

The coffee is the reset button he needs to start the day filled with unexpected family bonding and together time. The only plans that had been set for the weekend were Bozer’s and Jack’s plans for the film festival each night. 

Despite having only gone to bed a couple hours prior, Bozer is the first to emerge at the smell of food cooking. Riley joins soon after, having let the hot shower soothe her aching muscles until the hot water runs out. She feels the worst she has yet, the pneumonia causing deep coughing fits that make her wretch. The shower zapped enough energy for her to hop right back into comfy pajamas and curl up on the couch under a blanket.

She rotates through the group, being snuggled and comforted by the boys, each with his own brand of comforting style. Mac is a footrest, tinkering and fiddling with things, seemingly oblivious to the shins across his lap. Bozer is a chairback, whether she props herself against his side or his back or his chest, he doesn’t move until she’s ready, offering the support of his own spine and strong embrace when needed. Jack does everything else, usually knowing what she needs before she does. His thigh is a pillow as is his shoulder and every part of his torso. 

At dinner time, they fill the apartment with smoke, searing steaks on a cast iron griddle on the stove and move the party to her patio. The cool air is refreshing and a welcome change for Riley and Mac who have not enjoyed the outdoors in a couple of days. Bozer and Jack have prepared a feast fit for a cowboy with all the red meat and carbs a person could eat.

Jack and Bozer dress up for their second night of the film festival, more casual than the previous night, but still very snazzy. Their bellies full of bread to ward off embarrassing drunkenness, during their rubbing elbows with both local and elite filmmakers. Tonight’s films are from the previous year’s winner and three other established independent filmmakers. The festivities run all day Saturday and many short films are featured and premiered in the afternoon, but Bozer and Jack only intend to show up for the later in the day events and then network and schmooze at the afterparties. 

Every once in a while, Jack sneaks off to the car and takes a quick nap in the back seat to reset himself. With the booze, he has to work overtime to counter the exhaustion that plagues him, nagging in the back of his mind while still being completely “on” and charming his new acquaintances with his bestie.


	5. Sunday

**Sunday 0717 hours**

They party until just before dawn, then head to Bozer’s place to rest for a little bit and freshen up. After a quick nap and showers, the pair stops for bagels on the way back to Riley’s where Boze’s car still sits in the parking lot. 

Feeling somewhat better and the last one to wake, she sends them all home. The company was nice, but she wants to spend the day burrowed under the blankets alone in her darkened bedroom. She’s ready to wallow in her misery without three other sets of eyes looking at her with sympathy every time she breaks into a chest rattling coughing fit. She wants to sprawl out in her underwear and whine and moan about the aches without the guys getting worried. Sometimes it just helps to complain, and that’s hard to do with three grown ass men that feel it’s their mission to cater to your every whim to make you feel better. 

Each man returns to his respective home, Jack is torn between sleeping and watching the Cowboy’s game. He figures he can do both and does so pretty well. He’s less than lucid during the commercial breaks and may have slept through the entire third quarter, but he feels rested and also excited about the football win. 

For a couple of short hours at least, he manages to distract himself from worrying about how Riley’s feeling and Mac’s upcoming procedure. He starts to beat himself up again for not noticing that Mac was hurting enough to actually talk to a doctor about it. He was worried enough about himself, for once, to address a problem. That worries Jack more than anything else, it must have been pretty terrifying to Mac for him to a) admit he’s hurting and b) go to such lengths to hide it from Jack to keep him from worrying. 

Jack's paternal anxiety kicks into overdrive and he's not sure how to dampen it. He pulls out a laptop and slides his reading glasses on to do a little more research. There are two things he can spend his time on, Mac's surgery or the film festival. 

As a good friend, Jack uses his intelligence skills to research some of the filmmakers Bozer had most admired the previous two nights. If he had a little more information and history on them, maybe Bozer could have more meaningful and memorable interactions during a time when everyone present is wheeling and dealing and trying to make a name for himself. 

With a few promising leads for Boze, Jack decides to dive back into the Mac problem. Thinking about all of their past missions, he tries to pinpoint the time when Mac may have done something to mess up his neck so badly that it needs to be fixed. It hurts Jack that he hadn't noticed more than it hurts that he hadn't known. Gutted because he can't recall a time when Mac hurt his neck, he feels worse that it could have happened when he wasn't watching Mac's back. Jack feels like a failure. A failure as an overwatch, as a father figure, as a partner, and as a best friend. How could he be so daft?

As soon as Bozer calls, Jack flips the switch from worried parent to supportive friend and proud castmate. Worried parent still nags in the background, but he is able to stifle that bastard into being quiet for the time being. Armed with an arsenal of useful information and a couple really nice tailored suits, the pair is ready to end the film festival with a bang. 

They announce the winners of the Top Prizes at the Noir Noir film festival in all of the different categories, and to their surprise, Bozer’s film is the runner up to the Dutch film for best screenplay. As badly as Bozer wants to accept his accolades with grace, Jack’s jumping up and down and his cheering is contagious. He rises from his seat, wrapping his arms around Jack and hopping a few times together with joy. Jack plants a big kiss on his temple and sends Bozer up to accept his award for his film. 

Bozer is elated and not sure he'll ever sleep again. They don't even need Jack's conversation fodder, Wilt Bozer is now an award winning screenwriter. He’s the talk of the festival. While most of the participants are newcomers to the industry, most of them have sponsors or mentors that are already known, so it makes Bozer’s story all that more special, and everyone wants a piece of him. Raw talent nurtured by friendship and rolled into a homemade film was his recipe for success, and everyone wants to hear about it. Does he have any other screenplays on the back burner, does he have any to sell, does he have anything in the pipeline? It’s the best night of his life. 

After a wild night, a stack of business cards in his breast pocket, and a celebration like they’ve never seen before, Jack chauffers him home and sticks around, after all, someone has to take Mac to medical the next day. 

“Night, Boze, I’m proud of ya.” Jack reaches across Wilt’s shoulders with one arm and pulls him in for a side hug and a peck on top of the head as they cross the threshold into the house. 

“Thanks, man. Your support has meant the world to me. Night, Jack.” Both men retreat to their respective rooms for bed. Except Jack doesn’t sleep, he slips into his sweatpants and a t-shirt and heads back to the living room.


	6. Monday

**Monday 0234 hours**

Jack's spent the better part of two nights looking into this procedure, he knows the terms, the timeline, the healing process, the possible complications, the down time, and absolutely everything there is to know about what's going down. Usually, when Mac has surgery, it's with whomever is available and able because something terrible has happened. Having something scheduled gives Jack plenty of time to panic. 

He doesn't even bother with the guest bed, Jack sits on the couch to wait out the night, any attempt at sleep thwarted by anxiety and bad dreams. He considers a few tequila shots to take the edge off, but needs to be sober to drive in the morning. 

"Hey, man," Jack greets a creeping Mac as he pads out of his bedroom into the living room. 

Mac rubs his eyes, heading toward the refrigerator, "what are you doing up?"

Jack turns the question around "What are you doing up?"

"Couldn't sleep." Mac changes his course and heads for the couch once he realizes he's past the cutoff time for eating and drinking. 

"Must be contagious." Jack mumbles. "You nervous?"

"Yeah," Mac plops down. "I don't usually have this much time to think about what is going to happen. Equipment, tools, general anesthesia, I kind of prefer you patching me up in the field, no time to dwell on it. This is a little...scary."

"Heh," Jack scoffs. "I was just thinkin' the same thing."

"But it's completely unnecessary…"

Jack cuts him off, "then why are you doing it?"

"No," Mac corrects, "I mean the anxiety. The procedure is necessary." Jack doesn't respond, waiting for further explanation. "So about three months ago, my hands would go numb. It was more annoying than it was concerning, honestly, but I had it checked out, and I've got a problem with my neck. I decided to let it go and hope it got better instead of worse, and it got worse. So they brought in a few specialists to check it out and talk with me, and we decided this was the best route."

"And you did this all behind my back?"

"No. Don't say it like that. It's not like that."

Jack raises an eyebrow and Mac back pedals some more, "I didn't want you to worry or feel like you couldn't trust my abilities."

"I'd never question your skills. Ever." Jack emphasizes. 

Mac continues sheepishly, "and I didn't want you to worry. It's not a big deal. Really."

"It is a big deal."

"If it makes you feel better, I only told Riley when I asked her for a ride on Wednesday. No one knew. I just played this one close to the vest. I'm sorry."

"I just want you to know you can come to me with anything. Anytime. You know that."

"I do. But I also know that you worry. And all that stress is unnecessary. I didn't need you looking over your shoulder constantly to make sure I'm ok." Jack opens his mouth to speak and is cut off, "and don't say you wouldn't because I know you would."

Jack makes a face in reluctant agreement and shrugs. "I know. I guess you make a good point."

"And it's outpatient. I'll be back home the same day. It'll take about half an hour. Honestly it takes more time to get ready for it than it takes to actually do it."

Jack snickers, "Like a colonoscopy." 

"Probably not nearly as bad as that." Mac jokes, knowing the two aren't even comparable, but it seems to make Jack feel better. 

"And you're so white, it probably won't even leave a scar." Jack laughs trying to ease Mac's mind with a little ribbing. There's a long pause where neither knows what to say next.

Jack just wants Mac to relax, so he breaks the uncomfortable silence. "NatGeo or Food Network?" He suggests.

Mac only ponders a moment before answering, "I'm already hungry just because I _can't_ eat, so let's not make it worse."

"We can watch _How it's Made_ , but you probably already know how all that machinery works. Let's go with wild animals." Jack grabs the remote and flips to National Geographic singing his own words to the theme song, "there is a tiger, there's a lion eating a bear."

"Do you have a full set of lyrics for that, or are you just freestyling every time it comes on?" Mac laughs.

"A master never shares his secrets."

"And what kind of master would that be?" Mac asks and then cuts Jack off before he can answer, "I walked right into that, don't even…"

Jack laughs a hearty laugh, ecstatic that Mac is able to predict his dumb jokes. "You need to get some sleep, hoss. Got a big day tomorrow."

"Well some of that is sleep." Mac adds matter of factly.

Jack replies with sass, "Only thirty minutes though." 

"Touche," they watch a few space documentaries and some animal ones. 

Mac attempts to sleep and fails, they readjust and move around to get comfortable. Eventually Mac's socked feet are across Jack's lap and Jack's leaning over the arm of the chair with his legs propped up on the coffee table. 

They check in bright and early and Phoenix Medical. The doctors greet Mac and Jack and brief them on the procedure before taking Mac back. Watching him walk away makes Jack more nervous than he'd been in a while. 

Jack paces, feeling sick and unsteady. “Agent Dalton?” a female voice asks across the otherwise empty room. He’s not familiar with her, she must be someone they brought in with the surgical team. “He wants to see you before they get started.”

Unsure who the “he” in question was, Jack was ready to answer any clarifying questions about Mac’s medical history. She leads him to a room where Mac is. He’s got a dopey relaxed grin and is practically melted into the pillows. His blonde locks are contained in a blue hairnet. 

“Gettin’ cold feet there, hoss?” Jack tries to joke to make himself feel better. 

“Nope, they’re warm.” He wiggles his toes, feet covered by several thick blankets. 

Jack can’t help but laugh-So does the nurse pulling on the neck of his gown to attach cardiac leads to his chest. “Funny.” Jack comments. 

“Versed.” Mac says cheerily as he raises his hand with the IV in it. “I was a li’l nervous so they gave me something to calm down. Sorry, Jack. I shoulda told you.”

“It’s ok, little buddy, I know why you didn’t. But we’ll for sure talk about this later when you’re not high as a kite and helpless as a kitten.” He’s definitely too adorable to be mad at Mac like that, he also probably won’t remember most of the conversation anyway. Jack stands next to the side of the bed and Mac reaches a hand up to him.

“I just didn’t want you to be mad at me before, you know, before I…” Mac stumbles on the words he’s trying to form.

“I know.” Jack takes Mac’s hand, hooking thumbs and squeezing before placing his other hand on Mac’s head; he nuzzles into the touch. “I’ll see you in a little bit.” Jack assures him with a hair ruffle that knocks the hairnet askew. Jack pats their clasped hands and plants a kiss on the crown of Mac’s head. He wants to fix the hairnet he messed up but needs to bolt before Mac sees him cry; normally it wouldn’t be an issue, Jack is not ashamed of his emotions, but this time he needs to be solid. There’s a reason Mac hid the situation from him, and he doesn’t want to prove him right. 

“You look like shit, get some sleep” Mac calls out as an afterthought as Jack reaches the door.

“You first!” Jack sticks his head through the crack of the door with a smile as he closes it, hoping the kid didn’t notice his reddening face, glad he probably wouldn’t remember it anyway. 

He ponders ways to take his mind off of Mac’s surgery: go to the shooting range in the basement, put in some time with the heavy bag, mindless tv, but he feels like he needs this proximity to Mac, he doesn’t want to leave Medical. Jack knows it's irrational, but he can't help it. 

Head in his hands, hunched over his lap in a chair, Jack is a ball of nerves. It doesn't help that he hasn't slept in days. If anyone actually checked his vitals he'd be hospitalized immediately. His blood pressure is through the roof, his pulse has skyrocketed like he’s sprinted half a mile, he’s having trouble getting a good deep breath, and the world is definitely spinning. Too fast.

He has to close his eyes, because even looking at the floor, the room is spinning. But when he closes his eyes, he imagines Mac, strapped to a table, draped completely in blue sheets save for the tiny vulnerable piece of his flesh exposed--Where they’re probably cutting into already, digging around and messing with the very thing that makes... 

Jack bolts to the garbage can in the corner of the room and vomits. He presses his back to the cold wall and slides to the floor. Leaning into the small wastebasket he expels more bile from his stomach. He drapes his arms across the thin metal rim of the rectangular trash can and rests his forehead on his arm to try to compose himself. 

He tries to think positively; he knows there’s someone monitoring every carefully measured mechanical breath, keeping him pain free and oblivious to what is happening. Someone else has an eye on Mac’s brain activity, staring at a screen and watching the visual manifestation of the kid’s magnificent mind, always working, even in rest. Little electrodes attached all over his face and body to give readings and make sure nobody’s fucked up and damaged something important. 

Jack knows they have the best and only the best, flown in from wherever, just for this one thing, just for this one day. Jack knows the Phoenix does their homework, but he still vetted them all himself anyway because that’s what Jack does. Mac’s in good hands, there shouldn’t be any anxiety. They are strong, steady, experienced hands. Hands that don’t slip...unless there’s an earthquake. Jack dry heaves, there’s nothing left to come up. The wave of nausea and dizziness passes and he rests his head on his forearm again.

Unsure if he fell asleep or actually passed out, Jack is roused by a cold hand on the back of his bicep. “Agent Dalton, can I get you some water?” A friendly young intern is squatting on the ground next to him, clear from the smell that he’s sick to his stomach. 

“That would be great.” he replies hoarsely, his voice wavering unexpectedly. He sits up and moves the can out of reach as she returns. He checks his watch, over an hour has passed since he last checked. How? Did no one notice him hunched over a wastebasket in the corner?

She gives him a sympathetic pout, “Are you ill? He’s doing well and back in recovery if you want to see him, but if you’re not feeling well…” She hands him the water bottle and he has second thoughts about doing a swish and spit into the trash can. 

“No, no.” Jack counters. “Just nerves. I just...I worry about the little guy, you know.”

She smiles and rubs her protruding belly, “yeah, I do.” 

Jack lights up and they have an entire conversation with their eyes, asking the question you never ask a woman, without actually saying anything, her silent reply being the confirmation he needs. “Congratulations.” He nods and takes a swig of water before turning the bottle back up and chugging the rest. Crushing and tossing the empty bottle into the wastebasket, Jack stands, “lead the way.”

Intercepted by the lead surgeon from the team, they exchange a firm handshake, and he explains to Jack that everything went perfectly. He advises that Mac’s recovery should be quick and easy, and he would be as good as new before six weeks time. Ecstatic to actually see his boy with his own eyes, Jack gives his thanks and rushes away to Mac’s room.

Mac is reclined in the bed wearing a cervical collar and a nasal cannula. Jack tries to enter silently, but Mac knows he’s there as he approaches the side of the bed. His eyes crack open slightly. Blinking deliberately, he tries to track as far as he can with his forced immobility and catches Jack out of the corner of his eye. 

Jack spies the tiny incision, no bandage, just a small slit glued back together and covered with a piece of translucent tape, framed by the front opening of the cervical collar. It wouldn’t be noticeable if not for the remnants of the orange antiseptic in several spots around the perimeter of the sterilized area. It’s definitely the best Mac’s ever fared after surgery in Medical. 

“Hey you,” Jack smiles; it actually reaches his eyes and he backs up so Mac can see.

Mac’s reply is quiet and sluggish, “Hey, Jack,” Mac’s fond smile droops, “you look like shit.” 

“I know. You already told me.” Jack actually looks worse now, the burst capillaries under his eyes from vomiting only darken the already heavy raccoon circles. 

“Oh. I guess I really mean it then.” Mac feels awkward with his neck and head immobilized, but still drugged enough not to care about it for too long.

“How are you feeling?” Jack asks sweetly.

“I don’t know? Is that a valid answer? It doesn’t hurt yet so I don’t know yet. Right now I feel like I’m kinda floating? flying? flying squirrel? gliding?” Mac gives a confused pout.

“It’s ok,” Jack leans forward to lovingly ruffle Mac’s hair again and Mac beams like a puppy getting skritches. “You rest, I’ll be right here when you wake up.” He tells Mac fondly and Mac promptly dozes off again. 

Jack pulls a chair near the foot of the bed so Mac can see him when he wakes without having to strain. Before taking a seat, he grabs another blanket from the supply cabinet in the corner and covers Mac up to his shoulders with another fond hair swipe. With his palm on Mac’s cheek he sweeps the rogue hair off his forehead with his thumb because Mac can’t do that thing he does where he whips his head to get the hair out of his eyes.

His heart swells as he looks at his partner with the fondness and adoration of a doting father. Jack figures they weren’t expecting him to be the one with Mac that day, or they’d have left a better chair for him. With his feet propped up on the end of the mattress, Jack catches a few zzz off and on, as much as he can in a unforgiving, less than comfortable chair. 

Nurses and doctors come in and out checking and confirming that everything is perfect. The quiet steady beep of the monitor, the occasional click and beep of the IV pump, and the blood pressure cuff coming to life wake Jack periodically, out of habit. He’d thought he’d be used to those sounds by now and be able to ignore them, but generally hearing them meant something went horribly wrong somewhere. This time they were good sounds, positive sounds, sharing perfect stats of a healthy and completely uninjured partner, bringing them closer and closer to going home. 

With all the sticky leads and taped down things removed, Jack slid an unbuttoned henley over Mac’s arms and then his neck, moving as gingerly and delicately as possible. As usual, Mac refused the stronger drugs, but agreed after Jack’s nagging insistence. “This is literally the backbone of your body you had someone digging around in with sharp objects in today, if there was ever a time to take the good stuff, this is it.” 

Mac was lucid, but silly, his filter wasn’t gone, but it was definitely replaced by a fine mesh. He giggles and complains about gas bubbles in the car. Jack is very amused by his very un-Mac-like crude juvenile humor. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” Mac’s silly tone takes a somber turn. 

“I know, you told me.” Jack pauses, “about 17 times already today.”

Mac tries pathetically to turn toward Jack to look at him while speaking. “I just didn’t want you to worry because I knew you would.”

“And I did”

“And you did.” 

“Of course I did. You were right. But how did you intend to hide this?” Jack motions up and down Mac’s body, indicating his new immobility. 

Mac thinks for a moment, “avoidance and subterfuge?” he guesses. “I don’t think I thought that far ahead. I figured when it was all said and done, it didn’t matter because you didn’t have to worry.”

“I always worry.”

“That’s true. I’m sorry.”

“You already said that.”

“But I mean it.”

“Does that mean that you don’t always mean it?”

Mac’s mouth opens, lacking an actual answer. He’s not sure what to say.

“I’m kidding, you goof.” Jack laughs and goes to playfully punch Mac in the arm, but quickly snatches his fist back when he remembers his best friend isn’t at one hundred percent.

Back at Mac’s house, Jack walks in behind Mac, needlessly ready to catch Mac if he staggers or falls. He reminds Mac of the step to get to the front door, which of course he already knows about. Jack guides him to the recliner and demands that Mac sit down and even pulls the lever to recline the chair and extend the footrest. 

Jack pulls a block of chicken broth from the freezer and heats it in a pot for some dinner. He locates the tiniest stellene noodles to give the soup a little texture. Always thoughtful, Bozer made sure to go ahead and cook the carrots in the broth before freezing it so they’re the good kind of soft. 

Mac is already bored with his positioning. He can’t play on his phone or tinker with anything in his lap. Jack senses the boredom, “you want to put something on the TV, I can grab the remote for you.” Jack calls to Mac from the kitchen, wiping his hands on the towel draped over his shoulder before jogging to the living room to retrieve the remote. 

Looking down with his eyes only, Mac strains to see the TV and goes to adjust the incline of the chair. Jack runs back to Mac, “hey!” he shouts as he claps his hands, as if Mac were a cat getting into a meatloaf cooling on the counter. Mac reacts just like a cat would, eyes wide and startled, but he stops messing with the chair as Jack intended. “Let me get that,” Jack insists. “You trying to sit up?”

“Yeah, can’t see the TV like this.”

Jack gently presses the chair into a more upright position, “better?”

Mac wants to nod, but can’t, “better. Thank you.”

“Food will be ready in a little bit, you want some juice? I wrangled some grape juice and apple juice from the little pregnant intern before we came home.”

“No thanks. I’m not interested in getting up to pee anytime soon.” Mac complained.

“I’ll accept that for now because you’re being honest, but you’re going to get some fluids in you soon.” 

“I was on an IV for 6 hours, Jack, I swear I’m adequately hydrated.”

“Not the same, bro.”

Mac grunts in frustration. 

Jack finishes cooking and serves up the soup in gigantic coffee mugs for sipping. Neither had realized how hungry they both were and neither could remember the last time they’d eaten, but it was sometime the night before. 

It’s such a relief to Jack to see Mac eating and being his snarky self. Jack almost feels like he can relax. Mac is situated, fed, and comfortable. He looks good, rested, and not like he just had part of his spine removed, and for that, Jack is thankful and relieved. 

Finishing his soup, Jack goes to retrieve the dishes. His knees crack as he stands. His shoulder pops as he reaches for Mac's soup cup, but he holds in his old guy groaning and complaining. In light of today's events, he feels bad about complaining about his middle aged joints and their normal wear and tear. 

“Jack, are you ever going to rest? I’m pretty sure you’ve been awake since Wednesday. You’re going to pass out from exhaustion.”

“Nah,” Jack hollers over the running water, “that’s just something made up for celebrities when they don’t want to work.”

“No,” Mac speaks loudly to be heard over the faucet, “it’s a real thing, and you have it.”

Jack makes a face and shakes his head, returning to the sofa and getting right back up. “But you, hoss, need to rest. You can take off your dog cone of shame when you go to bed, but for now, you are going to relax and rest. You’ve had a big day.” He ruffles Mac’s hair as he walks by with a blanket in hand, covering Mac up to his neck and pushing the chair into a more reclined position. 

“Ok, I will, but only if you do too.” 

“I’ll lie down here until you’re nice and settled. You take a nap, and I’ll think about doing the same. You copy?”

“Good copy. Night, Jack.” Mac attempts to settle in with no success. He grabs the small pillow wedged between his thigh and the arm of the chair, feeling Jack’s eyes on him the entire time. Rolling to his side with the pillow supporting his forcefully straightened spine, Mac finally does get settled in, but he’s not sleeping. Mac knows there’s no way he’ll go to sleep for a while. Thankfully the potency of the pain pills counter the steroids enough that he’s not outright shaking enough from the jitters for Jack to notice.

Jack picks up a novel from the table, and Mac’s not sure why. He supposes it’s to keep himself awake for a little longer, knowing he won’t rest until he’s sure all of his kids are good and settled. It’s why he’s run himself ragged over the last five days taking care of all of their needs and almost none of his own. Mac knows the only way to best Jack was with his own game, possum. 

Breathing deeply and evenly, Mac tucks the blanket balled in his fist under his chin. He has to set the stage first. Mac hears pages in Jack’s book turn every once in a while, deciding that enough time has passed to move on to the next phase of his possum play.

He lets his lips part and lets go of the tiny bit of tension remaining in his arm before he sells it with a very quiet snore. It’s so quiet that the only way to notice it is with all of the ambient noise of the house removed, but he knows Jack will notice it. He knows everything about how Mac sleeps, but not in a creepy way, in an observant way like how a parent knows their own child’s habits.

Now Mac waits. He hears Jack put his book away and is almost giddy that it’s working. He hears movement, and without even peeking he knows Jack’s rolling onto his side and snuggling his back and butt into the vertical cushions. And as Jack knows Mac’s deeply personal habits, Mac also knows that Jack’s catnaps on the couch are on his back with his feet propped up, this side sleep is Jack settling in for a good nap. In no time, he’ll be asleep.

Ditching his quiet snore show, Mac silences his breathing to completely relaxed restful REM stage breaths, hoping Jack picks up on it and lets himself doze off. It doesn’t take long and Jack’s snoring loudly, almost violently, like a growling grizzly bear. For a moment, Mac wonders if Jack figured out his ruse and is also playing him, but realizes that Jack is too exhausted to think straight, much less outsmart Mac. Mac pulls his phone out from the crack in the recliner.

When Jack cracks his eyes open, it’s dark with a little ambient light from the street lamp outside spilling in from around the curtains. He’s on his belly, and the curtains tell him he’s still at Mac’s, but in the guest room and doesn’t remember walking...or sleepwalking to the bed. Hoping that Mac didn’t do anything to help him get there, Jack tries to raise up on his elbows. Met by a weight across his back he looks toward the foot of the bed to find Riley using his flank as a pillow. He smiles at the sweetness and glances to the side and finds Bozer in the bed with him as well, lying upside down and parallel to Jack on the other side of her, but with his head tucked behind her knees. Amused by the cuteness, he can’t get up even though he has to pee. If he is careful enough, Jack can slip out from under Riley to answer the call of nature, he’s sure he’s stealthy enough to pull this one off-

Until he looks further down by the foot of the bed and finds Mac. He’s lying on his back, appropriately inclined on many pillows and using Jack’s own calves as a prop under Mac’s knees, just as the doctor requests for the time being. Jack’s not sure what time it is, what day it is, or remotely how long he’d been asleep, much less how he got there. All he knows is that the three kids he busted his ass for all week are now snuggled in the bed with him and he can’t think of any better way to end a moratorium on sleep. 

Jack closes his eyes to make it last a little longer and manages to drift off again. The next time he wakes, the sense of urgency to pee is undeniable and he has to get up. He slips his shins out from under Mac first before sliding out from under Riley’s head, slipping pillows, Indiana Jones style, back in his place. A symphony of popping joints doesn't wake the sleeping youngsters, for which he is grateful. 

He slips away to the bathroom to relieve himself, bracing himself with his palm flattened against the wall above the toilet tank. It lasts a lot longer than he anticipated and is very draining. Jack pulls up his pants, popping the elastic waistband and realizing that he didn’t not fall asleep in these pants. He pulls at the fabric clinging to his chest with two fingers, or this shirt.

Was he drinking? Hungover? Looking at his face in the mirror, Jack looks so tired. The bags under his eyes were dark and slightly puffy. Rubbing the scruff on his face, it appears to be a good week since he’s shaved. Did he experience some kind of Rip Van Winkle episode? His mind sidetracks and he questions if it was Rip or Robert Van Winkle, and he laughs at the thought of Vanilla Ice with a long beard and nightcap. 

Jack walks out of the bathroom with a smile and nearly runs into Bozer. 

“Hey, man,” Bozer starts, surprisingly cheery for this early hour, “nice to see you join the land of the living.”

Jack's eyebrow raises in question.

“Jack, you’ve been out for 14 hours. Like _out_ out. Dead to the world.”

Both eyebrows go up.

“Mac called us when you fell asleep to get you to the bed. Dude, Riley and I carried you, AWKWARDLY, to the bed. She dropped one of your legs, and I barely held my grip; you were sliding down my arms. And then we heave-hoed you onto the bed. And you didn’t even stir.”

Impressed with his unusually sound sleep, Jack shrugs. Normally he wakes to every unusual sound, tiny changes in air pressure from a door opening, or food cooking. Knowing Mac isn’t at one hundred percent, he’s more shocked that he slept so hard.

“We were worried about you. Riley and I wanted to take you to medical. You were legit unconscious, but Mac insisted you were just sleeping.” Bozer pondered for a moment, “now that I think about it, why were we listening to the guy on narcotic pain killers? As if he knew what was going on.”

Jack laughed, “well thanks. I’m good. Just needed a nap I guess." He puts an arm across the back of Bozer's shoulders to pull him in for a side hug. 

Bozer looks up at him, "I wouldn't call being out for fourteen hours a nap." 

“How’s Mac?” Jack asks, of course, changing the subject. 

“He’s great. He took off the collar, he’s moving around like normal.”

“You aren’t letting him lift anything heavier than a gallon of milk, right?”

“Nothing heavier than a bowl of cereal, actually.”

“Good work. Where you headed?" Jack inquires.

Bozer points to the horizon through the window, "gonna run out for a couple groceries. I'm making a southern style breakfast, grits, biscuits and gravy, the whole nine." 

"That sounds great, you need a hand?"

"Nah, you go back to bed. I got this. Who knows, this may the the last time...before I become a rich and famous filmmaker, then my kitchen staff can make our breakfasts."

Jack chuckles and slaps two parting pats on Wilt's shoulder as he retreats back to the bedroom. With a quick stop at the linen closet for a few more blankets, Jack finds the other two where he left them. He unfolds the light blankets and drapes one over each kid,

With his old spot still occupied, Jack slides into the bed, lying across where pillows would usually be kept. The weight dip on the bed didn’t go unnoticed. Riley rolls over, realizing her unfamiliar surroundings she becomes alert. 

“Sorry, honey,” Jack whispers, “I didn’t mean to wake you. I probably should have gone to Mac’s bed instead.”

“It’s ok,” she responds in a sleepy whisper rubbing her eye with the back of her hand, “you don’t have to sleep up against the headboard.” She rotates and sits on the edge of the bed.

“Sun’s not even up, you don’t have to get up yet.” He explains. “I can go to the other room.”

“No, we’re good,” she admits, checking her watch and fishing a bottle of ibuprofen out of the nightstand, dry swallowing two to stay ahead of the pain. “Get comfortable, old man.”

Jack turns himself, lying the correct direction in the bed, but not quite straightened out because Mac’s still at his feet snoring soundly. Riley sticks a pillow under Jack’s knees and drapers her blanket over Jack’s legs and chest, tucking him in. He smiles sleepily. She crawls back into bed and lays her head on his chest as a pillow. He smiles and wraps his arm around her shoulders. 

After a few minutes, Mac gets up and goes to the bathroom. Once he takes his pain pill, he carefully settles back into the bed on Jack’s left. Grabbing the necessary pillows for adequate support, Mac presses his back into Jack’s side and props a pillow between his knees before going back to sleep. 

Sun peeking through the curtain and the smell of pork sizzling pulls Jack from his slumber, but he seems to have both arms trapped under two sleeping and injured secret agents. He pulls them in tighter planting a kiss on the crown of each of their heads. Jack is content to wait them out...or maybe just go back to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so I wanted to post each chapter with the corresponding day, but why? I don't want a gimmick. So here's the rest.


End file.
